Alien Caged

by Tracy St. John

  Contact with the containment didn’t harm prisoners; it simply allowed no escape. The Kalquorians never approached too closely until they were sure Elisa was comfortable in their presence. They seemed determined to show her they offered no threat. She thought that only underscored how dangerous they truly were, but she couldn’t help but feel pleased they treated her with such compassion.

  The three large men bowed to her as she neared, as they always did. Ever respectful, their faces lit with smiles when they saw she came alone. Elisa returned the smiles.

  Captain Zemos, who stood in the middle of his clan, said in a warm voice, “What a lovely voice you have, Matara Elisa. Someday I hope to hear you sing.”

  Elisa couldn’t help but take in the sight of the handsome Zemos. Over middle age of the Kalquorian lifespan of 250 years, his long black hair had the slightest dusting of gray. His years showed not so much in the few lines of his face, but in the experience that shone in his purple cat-pupil eyes. Maturity lay in Zemos’ attitude more than in his appearance. That aura, combining with a strong jaw and an underlying ferocity, made his face unabashedly masculine. Yet the rest of his features were soft enough that his appearance tried to enter the realm of endearing. Zemos couldn’t be called cute, but Elisa had come close to that description more than once in her head.

  His well-muscled body, behemoth at what Elisa guessed to be around six-feet-eight, showed no hint of debilitation. The uniform suit he wore, what the aliens called a formsuit, was black and clung to every curve of his carved body. Elisa suspected he and his clanmates washed their clothing in the cell’s small basin, because they always managed to look clean. Even their boots stayed shined.

  Elisa stole a quick glance at the doorway of the guard’s station to make sure Remington hadn’t entered the block yet. Rattling the cart to cover that she spoke, she told Zemos, “I can’t imagine the comments the guards would make if I was to serenade your meal.”

  He rewarded her joke with a grin. The sight stabbed into her heart, and Elisa looked away. She fussed with her limited field disruptor, as if she couldn’t operate the small device’s controls in the dark. It was hardwired with one setting and an ON/OFF button.

  Elisa activated it. A window in the containment field opened just enough for her to slide the covered plates of food into the cell, one at a time. She clipped the disruptor onto her belt and pushed the first tray through the opening.

  As always, Nobek Oret stepped forward to take the food from her. “Good evening, Matara Elisa,” he said. His low, growly voice might have come from the mouth of a wolf rendered capable of speech.

  He must have known how intimidating he looked. As he always did, the Nobek came just close enough to the containment barrier to stretch one long arm out and accept the plate she offered. Oret was younger than Zemos by one year, and his long curly hair retained all of its blue-black color without the first sign of gray. Yet he looked harder and more careworn than his Dramok. Elisa could never call such a feral creature ‘cute’; indeed she did not think him precisely handsome either. However, Oret’s face, with its stark features and intense demeanor, was riveting. To one who appreciated the perfection of creatures such as sharks or hunting tigers, Oret might be deemed a beautiful predator.

  If Zemos’ body was chiseled, then Oret’s had been carved, sculpted, and polished within an inch of its life. Veins stood out on his arms, exposed by the sleeveless formsuit he wore. He looked capable of breaking steel beams in half with nothing but brute force. His skintight uniform left nothing unimagined.

  Oret was fearsomeness personified. Yet, like a mouse hypnotized by the stare of a deadly cobra, Elisa found him entrancing as well. She was drawn to this walking, talking icon of destruction.

  His deep gaze never wavering from her face, he smelled the food before handing it to the third man of their clan. A slight smile curling his lips, Oret said, “Perhaps hearing you sing would sweeten the guards’ tempers just a bit.”

  Imdiko Miragin snorted as he sat with his tray on the lower bunk. “Tossing a handful of sugar at such men would only result in the sugar falling to the ground. For some, offering sweetness is a waste.”

  Elisa sighed and nodded her agreement. Miragin was forever saying something of note. He was a writer of much renown in the Empire, so much so that he was referred to as the Conscience of Kalquor. The time Zemos had mentioned this bit of the Imdiko’s biography, Miragin’s handsome face had taken on an uncharacteristic scowl. The Imdiko did not seem to be in love with the nickname.

  Threads of gray wove themselves in Miragin’s messy curls. Wide, intelligent eyes often sparkled with humor and mischief. The Imdiko’s good nature couldn’t be eclipsed by even his imprisonment. Elisa’s favorite feature on Miragin was his plump lips, sumptuous to the point of decadence. She often wondered what it would be like to kiss that delicious-looking mouth. He was also the least intimidating of the three men, several inches shorter than the other two and built more like a long-time runner than a muscled powerhouse. The youngest of the three at a century and a quarter, Miragin had a dreamier aspect. Elisa imagined him taking long walks as he contemplated the concerns of his world. Any time the Earther guards were present, Zemos and Oret stood between them and Miragin, determined to shield the Imdiko from all harm.

  Oret came forward again to accept another dish from Elisa, passing this one to Zemos. “You prepared these meals yourself?” he asked in his wolf-growl voice.

  She nodded. “Yes, Nobek Oret. I have taken on the responsibility of cooking all your meals. I have already made the breakfast Mr. Thomas will deliver to you in the morning.”

  He nodded and took the final tray from her. Oret’s demeanor was often one of suspicion, and Elisa knew he didn’t trust anyone else to cook his clan’s food. In those cases, he ate first and insisted Zemos and Miragin not touch their meals until an hour after he’d finished his. His distrust of their captors hadn’t been shaken in three months, though no one had attempted to poison the trio.

  Even at the beginning of their imprisonment, Oret had been more relaxed with Elisa than any other Earther. After the first two days of her bringing their meals, he’d eased his dictates to the other two that they wait to eat until he felt confident of the food’s safety. Elisa thought it was because she was a woman that Oret trusted her to the extent he did. She’d often thought about telling him he really should know better. Women were imminently capable of evil acts, as the Church had so often pointed out. She’d held her tongue because she liked that the fierce Nobek felt confident of her motives.

  Miragin had already started eating the chicken stir-fry she’d made, practically inhaling the pile of food she’d made for him. Between mouthfuls he said, “Delicious as always, Matara Elisa. Thank you so much for preparing our food.”

  Elisa closed the window in the containment field, smiling at his praise and obvious enjoyment of his dinner. She glanced down the corridor towards the guard’s room. There was still no sign of anyone coming to join her, and she knew she should get going. Yet her whole day revolved around stolen moments such as these.

  Zemos was smiling at her as she returned her attention to the clan. “You are without a guard tonight. I do like it when we get a moment to talk.”

  Elisa told him, “They’re busy playing poker. Remington said he’d follow in a moment.”

  “Remington.” Miragin made an ugly sound.

  Oret said, “A fool with ambitions can be dangerous, but in the end he’s still a fool.” The Nobek considered Elisa, and she barely controlled a shiver that wanted to go through her at that appraising stare.

  He told her in a gentle voice, “Never underestimate an enemy, Matara. Not even with a seemingly impenetrable containment field.”

  “Do you plan to attack me?” Elisa asked, fighting to keep her tone light. At Oret’s gaze turned calculating, she wished she hadn’t said anything.

  However, she had nothing to worry about. The containment field was fully powered. Not even a Kalquorian of Oret
’s obvious threat level could hope to break through it.

  The Nobek’s sudden grin was a mixture of humor and pretended threat. “Attack you? You know, I have had time to consider that option. I decided that if given the chance, I would take you hostage. Harming you would be off the table, little one, though making you squirm might be fun.”

  Zemos gave Oret a warning look, though he looked as if he might smile too. “Don’t frighten her, Oret. Matara Elisa has been kind to us when she is able.”

  Oret chuckled, a harsh chuffing sound that made Elisa wonder how often the man actually laughed. “I meant squirm in a good sense. Of course, this naive Earther female has no idea what I am inferring, do you?”

  His smile turned paternal, as if she was no more than a child. Elisa knew exactly what he referred to with his sly comment. She might be a virgin at the grand old age of 48, but she wasn’t clueless. Oret’s condescension irritated her, and she couldn’t help but respond in a manner that she’d never dare in Earther company.

  Keeping her tone unimpressed, she told the alien, “If it was your weight on me, Nobek Oret, I don’t think I would have the breath or strength to squirm.”

  It was an outrageous statement for an Earther woman to say to anyone, never mind a Kalquorian man. Zemos froze to stare at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Miragin made choking sounds as he laughed around his mouthful of food.

  Oret’s eyes widened at Elisa’s boldness. Then his lips curled in a slow, knowing smile that made her heart hammer. “Oh, my pretty one. That I would have the chance to take your breath away—”

  Before he could finish his comment, the telltale thud of booted feet warned them that Remington was on his way. Elisa hurriedly squared away her cart and started walking away from the cell just as Remington came into the corridor. His hand rested on the blaster holstered on his hip.

  He pulled the weapon out. Elisa’s mouth went dry. She was sure none of their conversation had reached his ears. Remington was simply being an asshole again. He enjoyed threatening the prisoners. She kept her eyes averted as he came level to her clattering cart and kept going past her.

  His nasally voice rang out as he greeted the Kalquorians. “Good evening, slimeballs! Did you have another good day filled with fun and games?”

  The clan made no response. Elisa worried that someday Remington would push the three into a reaction, one that would give him the reason he desired to kill one or all of them. She turned her head enough to peek at him and the men in the cell. Remington was aiming at the Kalquorians in turn, pretending he was about to shoot them. Miragin had risen from the bunk, and Oret and Zemos stood in front of him, shielding the Imdiko.

  Remington giggled, somehow sounding like a little girl when he did so. “What do you think, homo aliens? You like seeing a female once or twice a day? Does it make you wish you were me, someone who can have a woman’s pussy and not a man’s ass? You want to hear how nice Mackenzie there feels to fuck?”

  Elisa’s face flamed with heat. She hoped Zemos and his clan knew she would never sleep with a disgusting pig like Remington. She’d never known a man at all except to kiss ... if a teenage buss with a sixteen-year-old boy could be called knowing a man.

  It might as well have been. That innocent moment had landed her in all sorts of trouble over thirty years ago. It had torn away every dream she’d possessed. That moment of curiosity and infatuation had certainly not been worth the hell it had caused.

  Elisa did not like Remington telling the Kalquorians or anyone that he’d enjoyed anything remotely sexual with her. Even the most innocent instances could land her in hot water, and what Remington was saying could do a lot more than put her in the brig.

  Somehow, it still paled in comparison to the fact the bastard was telling Zemos, Oret, and Miragin he’d known her in a carnal manner. It made her sick to her stomach to think they might believe him.

  Her cart clattered as she rushed out of the cell block. Elisa’s chest was tight as she escaped the hateful sound of Remington’s laugh thudding in her ears.

  Chapter 2

  Dramok Zemos forced back red-tinged fury at Remington’s crude allusions to Elisa, struggling to keep his expression impassive. Not quite as able to disguise his emotions, Oret turned his back on the foul-mouthed guard. The Nobek’s heavy brow creased in hatred. Despite putting his back to Remington, his head was turned enough to keep the man in his peripheral vision, making sure he always kept his enemy in view.

  Zemos could well understand his clanmate’s need to shield his feelings from the Earther guard. Remington delighted in finding out what upset others, simply so he could make them more miserable than they already were. If he knew the regard Zemos’ clan held for Elisa, the bastard would say even worse things about her.

  Zemos edged closer to his clanmate to speak in a low voice. “He wants you to react. Do not give him the pleasure of seeing you angry, my Nobek.”

  Oret shot Zemos a black look. “That he speaks of that sweet girl in such disgusting terms to other men—”

  Miragin looked up at his taller Nobek clanmate, his always reasonable tone more than enough to interrupt. “You know a lovely such as our Elisa would never give him a second thought. The bastard speaks of what he wishes, not what he has had the honor of experiencing.”

  “It is obvious she is frightened of him. Perhaps he has forced his attentions on her.”

  Zemos shook his head. “She would be markedly more afraid if that had happened. My Nobek, you are too strong for the likes of that fool to defeat you in any way. Do not let stupid words claim victory.”

  Oret drew a breath to settle his temper. He nodded. “You are right. As always.” He grimaced with a suggestion of a smile, which Zemos returned.

  Miragin snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. He jerked his head to toss his unruly mass of curls back. “Remington’s pathetic. His assertions are worth humor rather than anger.”

  The Imdiko walked away from Zemos and Oret, leaving the questionable security of their bodies that shielded him. The Earther guard was still smirking and talking, though Zemos had faded his repugnant comments into an unimportant background buzz. Miragin looked at the wiry little pest and laughed.

  Remington turned furious in a moment, his loathsome smile turning into a snarl. “What the fuck are you laughing at, freak? Huh?”

  He raised his percussion blaster and aimed it right at the Imdiko. The other hand snatched his field disruptor from his belt and aimed it as well.

  Alarm coursed through Zemos. It was a full-spectrum disruptor, capable of taking the entire containment field down. It could also open a window like the limited disruptor Elisa carried. It would be enough to keep the clan from escaping while allowing Remington to shoot Miragin.

  Faster than thought and quicker than Zemos could react, Oret dropped his nearly empty tray. The next instant, he was between his Imdiko and the guard. The Nobek’s fangs unhinged from the roof of his mouth, dripping the intoxicating venom natural to all Kalquorians. He roared defiant rage at Remington. With a cry, Miragin tried to yank his clanmate out of the line of fire.

  Zemos felt cold calm descend on him as he watched the situation unfold. Decades of command and his stronger Dramok instincts took over, giving him the ability to assess even as he readied to act. He waited to see what Remington would do before making a move. Zemos thought he had time to jump in the path of a blast in the second it would take the Earther to disrupt the field and aim. He noted how hard Remington’s hands shook. The Dramok wondered if it was in anger over Miragin laughing at him or fear from Oret’s feral display. Either way, it would fuck up his aim.

  It wasn’t much comfort when there was no place for them to run. If Remington started shooting and kept shooting, he’d eventually hit one or all of them.

  Remington yelled, “Two of you for the price of one? Fine by me. I’ll take you both out!”

  He hesitated, however. It made Zemos feel sure Remington wouldn’t shoot unless provoked further.


  His tone utterly reasonable, Zemos asked the little bastard, “Won’t that get you in trouble with your superiors? They want us kept alive for a purpose, don’t they?”

  Remington’s weapon swung around to sight on Zemos, and the Dramok felt some tension release. His calm increased now that the blaster was no longer aimed at his clanmates.

  The Earther screamed at him, “Shut up! No one asked you to talk, freak!”

  “Ensign, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Remington jumped in surprise. His hands snatched behind his back, hiding the blaster and disruptor like a child caught with stolen sweets. He stared in wide-eyed horror at the man walking down the corridor.

  Zemos moved over to stand at Oret’s side. The Nobek promptly shouldered him back, as if he could shield both his clanmates with his body.

  The three Kalquorians watched Remington carefully despite Captain Joseph Walker’s unexpected appearance. Zemos thought of how a cornered man was a dangerous man. Remington looked extremely cornered right now with his commanding officer bearing down on him.

  The guard shot them a frightened look as he began to make his excuses. “They were being rowdy and disrespectful, Captain. I was just reminding them of their place.”

  Walker was a young man, even by Earther standards, but he had an old look on his face. As usual, Zemos felt an unwelcome stab of pity for his captor. Walker was the enemy, but he was the nicest enemy the Dramok had ever encountered.

  It was an odd thing to wish the man was an asshole. After all, the battlecruiser under Walker’s command had demolished Zemos’ destroyer and taken his surviving crew prisoner. The Kalquorian wished for nothing more than to be able to hate Walker as easily as he hated Remington, but the damned Earther captain wouldn’t grant him the luxury.

  Walker looked at Remington with tired disgust. “You were reminding the prisoners of their place by killing them?” He snorted with derision. “I’m sure after they’re dead they’ll accord you all the respect you can wish for. Get back to the observation post.”